Tag Archives: boredom

#348: Don’t Do Something

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I get it.
People shut in want
to get things done,
they get all ambitious
and want to complete
the house project, write
the great American novel,
exercise themselves into
hardbodies, record a hit
record, paint their master-
piece, read 20 great books,
write poems every day.
The experts tell us
to knock that shit off.
Today I hardly know
what to do with myself
even though the list
is long of things to do,
things that need doing
and things I need to do.
And I’m trying not to feel
bad. Today, I think, I’ll
take the advice of the experts
who, in their infinite wisdom,
are trying to tell us,

Don’t do something,
just stand there.

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A Journal of the Plague Year: #10

Are we having fun yet? That, in case there was any confusion, is a rhetorical question. We are not having fun on this Friday of Spring Break, 2020, the year of our plague. Are we bored? Some of us are bored. You know what they say, though? Whoever “they” are, I am told that they say that boredom is good for us. Out of boredom, often comes creativity and problem solving. The state of not knowing what to do often results in things being done. The Old Guy in me says, that’s what’s wrong with kids today! They don’t know how to be bored, surrounded, as they are, by a hundred and one distractions, a thousand different ways to be entertained, all immediate, all at their grimy little finger tips! To a certain degree, this is true. Maybe it’s wrong to generalize. Maybe there’s no maybe about it. As an educator, in every year, I find that there are always a decent number of young people who are not addicted to their devices, who are super creative, and who do not have grimy finger tips. When they are bored, they read, they write, they create, or they cozy up to their boredom like a lover. I wonder how they are all doing with all of this unstructured, unvaction-y, shelter-in-place time.

Soon, I will find out. Soon I will be back in touch somewhat with my students. In recent emails from our union president and from our district superintendent, we learn that on March 31st, we are all returning to work. Sort of. Although we are told we might be able to stop in to pick up materials we need from our classrooms, we won’t be returning officially to our buildings. We will work remotely. We will attend google hangouts, we will develop some kind of remote learning opportunities for our students, we will attend IEP meetings, PD meetings, PLC meetings, meetings about other acronyms and abbreviations, and we will log in our hours, a certain number of which will be mandatory. We will roll out some remote learning program for students within three days of our “return” to work. What I find fascinating and weird and oddly intriguing about this preparation for High School Remote, is that, as I understand it, students will be held harmless for all of it, meaning that none of the work they might do as a result of instruction and assignments given will be graded, recorded, or figured into a final mark for the semester. Part of me thinks, a ha! Here’s an opportunity for an experiment in an educational fantasy I have harbored throughout my career: the grade-less classroom! Another part of me is doubtful that students, out of desperation with their boredom, will flock to The Google to continue getting an education, you know, for its own sake. One can hope. One can only hope that they are THAT bored.

The dog is bored. She keeps bringing me her soggy, slobbery tennis ball to throw. And while we’re on the subject, today’s poem, happily, is about boredom. One of my favorite poems of all time, so much so, that I don’t need my reading glasses for it–because I have it committed to memory! John Berryman, #14 from the Dreamsongs.

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Filed under Education, Poetry, Reportage, Teaching

#318: Ode to Boredom and Non-Snow

Non-Snow

It’s 5:30 in the evening,
my son is playing video games
and my wife is napping
and I’ve poured myself a brandy
after hemming and hawing almost
all day long about what to do with myself.
I did four productive things:
I picked up a ball of cotton stuffing
from an eviscerated dog toy;
earlier, I drove cans and bottles
to the recycling center;
back home, I listened to bonus
recordings in my Kate Bush box set;
and a little while ago I swept
up a pile of dirt and dog hair,
sucked it up with the vacuum.
I’ve felt happy most of the day
despite the weather. We were
supposed to have had the winter
storm to end all winter storms,
people in grocery stores yesterday
behaving as if the world was about
to end, but today, while 30 minutes this way
or 30 minutes that way as the mallard
flies, in slightly higher elevations,
people saw 2 to 6 inches of powder
on their lawns and the roads
were made dangerous, in my
neighborhood we got next to
nothing. A flurry. A dusting.
In an hour it was gone.
I was bored. I thought about
driving to a local wine bar to
drink a beer where a former
student of mine has been
making soup and posting pictures
of his soup. I even went so far
as to put my keys in my pocket
and my notebook in the car.
I’ll write a poem by hand at
the wine bar, I thought to myself,
but it was cold and the dog
needed to go outside and my hair
was a mess and I’m unshaven and
it was getting dark so I decided against it.
I told a student of mine on
Friday who was complaining
of being bored that it’s good
to be bored, healthy to be bored.
It’s an opportunity for creativity,
I told him. He did not believe me.
So here I am proving him wrong:
instead of traveling to a wine bar
to occupy and inspire myself,
I am staying home with a brandy
and I am writing a poem about
boredom and the snow that refuses to fall.

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